


Hold me by my name

by staringatstars



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, M/M, Young Genji Shimada, Young Hanzo Shimada, Young Jesse McCree, Young Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9063364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: When the heirs to the Shimada clan are sent to a far away village to investigate reports of a werewolf attacking local livestock, they will find assistance from an unlikely source, but when placing your trust in the wrong person can end with death or worse, is enlisting this cowboy's aid really the right thing to do?





	1. As winter takes me now

The Shimada were a clan that had dedicated generations to hunting the supernatural. However, unlike the more altruistic hunter organizations, the cost of their services was high. 

While it was said that nothing could be valued more than the safety and peace of mind of the people their hunters were hired to aid, the resulting debt each village was placed in once the job was complete was often astronomical, resulting in their effectively being owned by the clan, trapped within a web of favors they couldn’t refuse. 

Some believed that the Shimada were as bad, if not worse than the very monsters they so ruthlessly executed, and so calling on them became a known last resort, an act of desperation when all other channels of opportunity had run dry. And that was without taken into consideration the rumors behind their perpetual domination of the field. There were those who gossiped in secret about the lineage of the Shimada, those who claimed that the reason for their skills was not their upbringing, but rather a secret buried deep within their blood, a curse passed on across the generations that made them stronger, crueler. More than human in body. Less than human in soul.

The young heirs of the current generation, Hanzo and Genji, had been raised to take part in hunting expeditions since their early adolescence, and yet their latest assignment would be their first mission without any supervision or guidance beyond their own training and instincts. More than a test of their aptitude for survival, it was to be a test of their bond, as the trials of living on the road would prove trying for even the most experienced hikers, and the Shimada brothers, for all that the youngest indulged in a tendency to slip past his guard and sneak off into the surrounding village, had never gone more than a few days without the luxuries of home. 

Heading into the northern Aizu region of the Fukushima Prefecture, where rumors of livestock slaughtered by what the villagers claimed was a werewolf had been passed along to Hanamura by informants scattered across the country, required an arduous hike over the snow-capped tip of Mount Bandai - a dormant volcano which had not been active for 10,000 years, and contrary to Genji’s insistence otherwise, would not suddenly erupt solely to be spiteful - followed by a trek through the forest in late autumn, guaranteeing cold nights and strong winds. 

During their travels, Genji did not hesitate to gripe endlessly, “It’s so cold, _anija._ ”

Hanzo had lost count of how many times he’d sighed or massaged his brow at this point. “I cannot control the weather, Genji.” Despite the chill, their clothes were caked with sweat and grime after so many miles of walking with nothing but their weapons and the sleeping bags strapped to their backs. He longed for a hotel room with a mattress, not the hard and lumpy stones they’d been making do with, and a shower with warm water, enough to banish the residual chill of the frigid rivers they’d bathed in. 

A shiver ran through Genji’s body, as though to emphasize his complaint. It would have garnered more pity if Hanzo weren’t also tired, grumpy, and freezing, but the biggest stumbling block to his mustering any significant amount of sympathy was the fact that Genji had personally chopped the sleeves off of every vest he owned. 

The sight of Goshiki Lake glowing with vibrant green and orange hues was a welcome sight to behold, as it meant that they were practically at the doorstep of Kitashiobara village. 

They broke out into a sprint, Hanzo readjusting his compound bow so it didn’t slip while they raced through the autumn foliage, ignoring the branches that snagged and caught on their clothing until they were standing directly in front of the entrance to their destination, a scarlet gate with curved, rounded tops that wouldn't have appeared out of place at a shrine. 

Hunched and breathing hard from the brief exertion and the accumulated fatigue of the journey, Genji flashed Hanzo a triumphant grin, not expecting to see his own expression mirrored on Hanzo’s face. It took years of worries and responsibilities off him, and Genji stared, slackjawed, as Hanzo stood to dust himself off, wondering if what he’d just witnessed could be explained away as an exhaustion-fueled hallucination or a trick of the light. 

It’d been so long since Genji had seen his brother smile he’d begun to think that he'd forgotten how. 

An impatient huff from above forced him to drag his thoughts away from memories of the tiny, indulgent smiles his brother used to make when they were kids, and back to the present, where Hanzo was staring down at him with a disapproving frown. Now, _that_ he knew how to deal with. “How much longer do you plan to remain? We still have a mission to complete.” 

“I know.” Genji rolled his eyes. “Kill the werewolf and bring back its hide or whatever barbaric task the Elders asked us to complete.”

“It’s a fang,” Hanzo corrected sharply. “If you paid any attention to others when they speak, you would know that.”

A cheeky smirk lifting his lips, Genji cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry, _anija_ , could you repeat what you said? I wasn’t listening.”

It elicited an angry scoff, but instead of replying, Hanzo offered a hand with a grudging air, which was more than Genji would have ever expected from him before they’d set off. A few weeks alone had done much to calm the waters between them. 

Genji clapped his hand over Hanzo’s, still keenly aware of the contact when Hanzo hauled him up despite their recent time together, then watched as Hanzo turned to march into the village. Before he could get a headstart of more than several paces, Genji ran ahead, an excitable blur of colors, filled with eagerness at the prospect of renting out a room in a hotel. He waved at the locals, greeting them cheerfully despite their lackluster responses. They were regarded with suspicion, a wariness that clung to the villagers like a burden they carried in the harsh lines around their mouths and eyes, in the tattered, worn layers of clothing they wrapped around themselves to keep warm, in the very marrow of their bones. 

He glanced around, taking in the hunched forms shuffling past with a curious quirk of his brow. “Not very friendly here, are they?”

Already scanning the weathered buildings lining the road for a hotel, Hanzo grumbled when he caught up to him. “Maybe if you behaved in the manner of a professional hunter instead of an excitable tourist…”

Genji clicked his tongue, propping his fists on his hips for added emphasis. “Excuse me, brother, but which of us couldn’t pitch a tent?”

“You say that like we haven’t been sleeping under the open sky every night due to your impulsive decision to toss our tent supplies into a ditch.”

“Yeah, well,” Genji floundered, waving his hands about as he strived to come up with a suitable excuse for why he’d abandoned the canvas and stakes after a mere fifteen minutes of clueless fiddling, “it's not like anyone expects me to know these things.”

 

It didn’t take them long to find a place to stay for the night once they both began to search in earnest. Hanzo rented an available room on the top floor, where he sat quietly on the thin mattress cover while Genji exalted in the shower’s water pressure and heat. He turned the temperature up to scalding, so hot it almost felt chilled against his skin, and he emerged from the bathroom red as the day he’d been born, a delighted, almost feverish gleam in his eyes. “I have seen the promised land, brother.”

He was dripping water all over the carpet, yet couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Hanzo took one look at him and shook his head. “Get dressed. We’re heading down to the bar to find out more about this werewolf the villagers have reported.” It was becoming startlingly apparent that the longer they stayed in an air-conditioned space, the more Genji would dig his heals in when it came time to leave. Best to get it over with quick, then. 

Predictably, Genji groaned, deflating like a punctured blimp as he trudged over to the knapsack he’d flung onto the bed closest to the window in his rush to monopolize the bathroom, then dragged out a second pair of clothes: ripped jeans, an orange scarf, a forest green compression shirt, and a belt equipped with leather casing for kunai and a sack for shuriken attached by double-knotted loops of twine. 

Despite his best efforts, the young ninja was fully dressed in less than a minute, thanks to muscle memory betraying him once again. He stared down at his hands with an air of righteous indignation, before Hanzo decided he'd finally had enough and wrenched him out the door by the ear.

 

Although it was late afternoon, the bar was scarcely populated, deserted for the most part except for the occasional patron drinking alone in a booth and the rather oddly dressed character hunched over the counter with a whiskey in his hand and a wide-brimmed hat upon his head. 

He was a foreigner. And by the glower the bartender was directing at him and the rows of empty shot glasses stacked in his vicinity, he was long past merely outstaying his welcome, and was now being looked upon with the resigned disdain with which one would regard an obnoxious couch. 

They decided to speak to the locals first, if only because it made sense that they would have a better grasp of the situation than an intoxicated American who, even with the scruff sprouting from his chin, still appeared boyish enough to warrant a carding. 

What they learned from the man sitting in the booth, once they’d introduced themselves and explained the purpose for their visit, was that the attacks had started several months ago, with the mauled corpses of sheep and goats and cows turning up with an alarming frequency that only increased around the full moon. The man poured himself another cup of sake, downed it, then sneered, “Ask that _gaijin_ over there. He showed up around the time the attacks started.”

Although they’d been speaking in their shared tongue, the cowboy flinched at the mention. Hanzo and Genji exchanged a look before making their way over to stand on either side of the American, each not so subtly preparing for the event that the foreigner would try at some point to stand up and bolt. 

Taking a burning sip of his whiskey, he glanced lazily at each of them. “Hey, barkeep, think you could pour a few of these for my new friends here?” 

Pretending he’d suddenly gone quite deaf, the bartender continued to wipe his glasses. Dark eyes flicking between the surly man behind the counter and his unwanted patron, Genji slowly leaned forward, mimicking intimidation tactics he'd observed during the handful of interrogations he'd witnessed during his youth. “What business do you have in Japan, cowboy?”

“Cowboy?” The American repeated with a slow southern drawl. “Can’t say I don’t like the sound of that.” He stretched his limbs, craning his head back towards the ceiling until his neck and joints gave a satisfying pop. “It’s not a secret, though. I came here for a break. Needed to get away from things for a bit, clear my head.” He winked. “Ain’t no crime in that, right, fellas?” 

Genji didn’t think he’d ever met anyone before this moment who’d seemed more blatantly and unashamedly suspicious than the foreigner sitting beside him. It was as though he was asking to be caught. But standing out like a sore thumb in a small village didn’t automatically make him their target, nor did the pungent scent of stale spirits wafting off the tattered crimson fabric draped around his shoulders speak of many excursions past the stool where his long torso was currently curled over the table’s edge. 

Purple shadows stained the skin beneath his drooping eyes, a testament to the wonders sleepless nights and a poor diet did for the body. 

“I don’t know, Hanzo,” Genji muttered in their native language, figuring the American’s reaction to their previous conversation stemmed from a familiarity with how the locals referred to newcomers from across the sea, and as such the majority of their conversation would remain outside his understanding, “this guy hardly seems capable of standing up, let alone tearing apart a cow with his teeth.”

The cowboy idly knocked his shot glasses together, aiming for casual disinterest and failing rather spectacularly, but then, he wasn’t dealing with average hunters. They were trained throughout their childhood to both spot and engage in deception and subterfuge, so Hanzo deliberated on his answer, keenly aware of the cowboy’s own simmering anticipation. “I think,” he said at last, choosing to switch over to English so the cowboy could understand that he was being directly addressed, “I would like you to tell us everything you know about the attacks on livestock occurring in this village.”

The gunslinger flicked a glass, waiting until the musical note it emitted died down before replying,“Ya mean the attacks that started up right around when I got here, right?” His straightforwardness startled the brothers, though they hastily schooled their expressions to a calculated degree of interest. “Goes a long way towards explaining why folks ain’t been too fond of my company round these parts.”

The bartender paused long enough to throw the cowboy a hateful look. 

Upon observing once more the clear disdain with which the foreigner was regarded, Genji felt a surge of pity for the man. It wasn’t easy to spend your days in a place where you so obviously weren’t wanted. Aware that he was breaking protocol by initiating contact, he clapped a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder, “I bet helping us hunt the beast would go a longer way towards clearing your name. Everyone loves a hero.” He winked, inclining his head towards the impressive revolver strapped to the cowboy’s waist, “Unless that toy is just for show?”

Impressed, the American whistled, long and low. “Pardner, if it was my gun you wanted, all ya had to do was ask.”

Hanzo massaged his brow, probably working his way through the final draft of that stern lecture about flirting on the job he’d be launching into once they gained some privacy, but Genji gave himself a mental pat on the back, regardless. As far as he was concerned, he’d netted them a potential ally, and if it turned out the stranger was actually the very supernatural they’d been sent to eliminate, then keeping him close would only increase their chances of bagging a quick and easy kill. 

After downing his last whiskey, the cowboy grimaced at the dull burn, then spun the glass on its edge, sending it skidding across the varnished counter until it collided with the remnants of his past drinks and toppled over, dripping amber liquid over the wood. McCree's unfocused gaze lingered on the mess, his mouth curled into a thoughtful frown. "Before I deprive this fine establishment of its most dedicated customer," if not for the damage it would do to his reputation for good customer service, the bartender might have finally given into impulse and tossed a bottle at his head, "can ya'll answer a query of mine? How do ya know for sure that the poor wretch ya'll gonna hunt ain't going out killin' sheep so it don't go out and kill people instead?"

Taken off guard by the question, Genji scowled. "Does it matter?" Even he was surprised by the acid in his tone, and so he quickly averted his gaze, though his side profile did little to conceal the muscle working at the corner of a tightly clenched jaw. 

A flash of sympathy thawed Hanzo's features, but only for an instant, before he returned to being cold and stern, the soft expression gone, smothered before anyone other than the cowboy had the chance to register its existence, and even he seemed half-convinced he'd imagined it. "Even if that were the case," Hanzo said evenly, "we'd still have a job to do."

The cowboy regarded him in silence, clearly thinking on his words with a frown that was slightly more pronounced than before. There was something inscrutable about him, something wild, a chaos tucked beneath the surface. Then a wide grin broke upon his rugged features, allowing the brief glimpse of something more to fade into memory. “Alright, then, beautiful," he pushed away from the counter, unintentionally disturbing the bar's few remaining regular customers with the jarring squeal of stool legs scraping against the floor, "why don’t you help me up so we can get this show on the road?” Genji lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug before leaning forward to slide an arm around the American’s back for support. He hesitated, however, when the cowboy waved him off. The American slapped a generous sum on the counter to pay for the drinks before explaining with a sheepish grin, “Sorry, darlin’, but I wasn’t talking to you.” His gaze darted to Hanzo, who flushed a light shade of pink at the attention, suppressing a satisfied smirk as he moved to help the intoxicated cowboy lumber off his seat. 

Stunned, Genji watched them blunder awkwardly towards the exit for a moment before sliding under the cowboy’s opposite arm when his unsteadiness threatened to topple them both. Hanzo shot him a grateful look, and though the sight of it served as the catalyst for the warmth radiating throughout his chest, it did nothing to lessen the sheer magnitude of teasing Genji had in store for him. 

Now that he’d discovered his brother’s preference for Western-styled hobo-chic, Genji was going to make quite sure that Hanzo never heard the end of it. 

“You realize that we will need to get you somewhat sober before we,” Hanzo’s voice dropped in pitch as he attempted to imitate the cowboy’s accented drawl, “get the show on the road.”

The American, who they’d soon learn went by McCreee, fixed them both a pitifully wounded expression. Thinking back to his own experience with Hanzo’s sobering techniques, which often involved cold showers and unhealthy amounts of foul tasting herb tea, Genji sympathized with the poor man’s plight, but not enough to prevent him from feeling a bit pleased at finding himself standing on the other side of the glass, for once. 

“Aw, now,” the cowboy swiveled his head to find himself trapped between stern resolve and a growing grin that Genji didn't even bother trying to conceal, “why ya gotta do me like that?”


	2. The monster in your head

Throwing McCree into the shower was hilarious. 

He whined and yelped under the cold stream, spewing profanities until Hanzo decided they’d had enough fun at his expense and turned off the water. McCree shot from the tub, landing on the carpet with both feet planted on the ground, then shook himself dry like a wet dog.

Half-heartedly raising his arms to ward off the spray, Genji laughed without a hint of restraint or remorse. He was aware that, for once in his life, there was no one listening through the walls, searching for perceived flaws in his behavior that they could use to further fuel their disapproval of him, and reveled in the freedom of it. 

The brothers appraised the cowboy standing naked and shivering on the carpet, and having already found him to be surprisingly thin and wiry beneath his ridiculously loose Western-styled garments, wrestled with whether to toss a towel at him, grab their bags, and head out… or get him dressed in something that didn’t stink and then sit him down in front a warm meal. 

Naturally, Hanzo had already tossed the American’s rumpled and stained clothes into the washer, though the serape and wide-brimmed hat had escaped that fate. Both were instead lying in a neat pile on Hanzo’s bed, upon the cowboy’s own request. For reasons neither Hanzo nor Genji saw fit to pry into, they were especially precious to him, and so were treated with care.

With thick, curling brown locks falling over his eyes, McCree gave a pathetic sniffle, and Genji, running exasperated fingers through the shocking green spikes running over his scalp, lobbed a complimentary towel at the man. McCree caught it close to his chest, the tension gradually sliding out of his muscles as he patted himself down dry with a fervency that could only be described as euphoric. 

It was fascinating to watch, as the length of the towel was nowhere enough to cover a man whose body stretched tall with a ungainliness which suggested that McCree himself wasn’t entirely used to it. 

Hanzo excused himself with a polite nod, then headed back into the room with Genji close on his heels. After he’d pocketed a few notes from their emergency funds, Genji nonchalantly asked his older brother whether they were breaking the hotel’s No-Pets policy by keeping McCree. 

It almost earned him a smile. “You invited him,” Hanzo told him quickly in their shared language, “which makes him your responsibility.” Oh, now, that wasn’t fair. This arrangement was joint custody, at _best_. “I’m heading down to the gift shop to see if there are any spare clothes he could wear while his outfit is drying,” Genji snorted at the mental image of McCree looking lost in loose sweats with a gaudy logo printed across his chest, “so be sure that you keep him out of trouble while I’m gone.”

Affecting a somber expression, Genji replied, “I will do what I can to keep him from drinking out of the toilet in your absence.” 

Exhaling through his teeth, Hanzo squeezed his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “See that you do.”

 

When Hanzo returned, it was to find Genji laughing with the cowboy on the bathroom floor. McCree was finishing a tale of a particularly humorous misadventure in his hometown, but it was his appearance, swaddled in the entirety of their complimentary towels and a comforter, that nearly prompted a bark of laughter from the eldest Shimada. 

Though they invited Hanzo to join, he refused, insisting that they needed to be prepared to leave once the dryer ran through its cycle. Genji watched him stalk out of sight with a pang of regret. He’d gotten to see so many sides of his brother on this mission that he’d feared had been lost forever, but his affection was still a small, fragile thing. A flower withering beneath the sun. 

“He’s a skittish one, ain’t he?” McCree observed, earnest gaze lingering on the patch of empty air where the tips of Hanzo’s raven black hair had flitted from sight. 

Pulling his knees in closer to his chest, Genji stared down at his feet before offering a slow, distracted nod. “It is how he was trained.” How they both were, but whereas Genji bucked his training, Hanzo embraced it, carried it like a shackle around his heart. 

If finding the werewolf meant returning to Hanamura then, deep within himself, Genji held onto the hope that they never found the pitiful creature.

 

McCree hung back with Hanzo, keeping up an endless stream of breezy chatter while they trekked through the forest in search of a cave or some other shelter where a man destined to transform into a wolf would hide away from prying eyes. From his position at the head of their group, Genji continually glanced behind him to see the patient smile with which his brother indulged the cowboy’s idiosyncrasies. It was heartening to see, though Genji couldn’t entirely shake the cold pit of dread spreading through his stomach at the thought of his brother opening up to a stranger.

Hanzo gave his trust reluctantly, his heart in pieces, but once he started, he never stopped until all of it was gone. 

Which was why, with every new betrayal, there always seemed to be a little less of him left to lose.

After a life spent losing his brother in agonizing increments, of watching him fall apart, only to piece himself back together into something new and infinitely colder, Genji didn’t think either of them could endure the fallout from yet another disappointment. But for now, at least, McCree was making his brother smile, something he’d been trying and failing at for years, so Genji contented himself with keeping a close eye on the pair.

 

They stopped for the night in a shrouded glen, setting up camp with their insulated sleeping bags while McCree gathered a pile of dry sticks, then uncorked a canteen at his hip, poured brown liquid over the wood, then held a lighter to it. At the flame’s touch, the liquid ignited, fire spreading from the contact until it crackled, spat, and popped. It climbed towards the night sky as though reaching, aiming to touch the cold surface of the rising moon, before its accelerant was consumed and devoted itself to chewing through the bark, coughing up clouds of smoke thanks to traces of water still present in the wood. 

A hand resting on his knee, McCree regarded his work with a satisfied grunt. “Alright, I’ve got my part done.” He frowned, glancing at the Shimadas standing bemusedly over the sleeping bags they’d dumped on the ground. Their part, naturally, was to create a suitable shelter for the three of them. Two sleeping bags and a fire did not a shelter for three make. “What exactly are you two doing over there?”

Genji glanced in his direction, a sheepish grin curving its way up his cheeks. “I don’t suppose you would mind sharing a bag with my brother?” Distracted by the heat creeping up his neck, McCree didn’t even finish formulating a coherent thought before Hanzo aggressively shot the idea down, all the while fixing his brother with a glare that promised unspeakable horrors should it be mentioned again. 

Once he’d recovered his wits, McCree found it a struggle to keep his voice from raising an octave when he asked, “Are ya telling me neither of you _payasos_ know how to pitch a tent?”

They frowned at the unfamiliar word, uncertain of its meaning but, based on its context, confident that it was not a glowing testament to their intelligence. 

It was true, though, that while pitching a tent was something they’d watched other, lower ranked members of the Shimada clan do many times, the practical application of those observations continued to evade them. 

With a long-suffering sigh, and a grumbled, “Can’t believe I have to do everything around here,” McCree ventured into the underbrush, returning soon after with his arms full of long branches, which he then proceeded to sharpen the ends of with a knife he’d kept in his boot. He also snapped off any smaller offshoots and leaves, then staked the ground with their points until a frame for an area roughly large enough for about three bodies was formed. Finally, he carefully unraveled his serape, “Anything happens to this, _compadres_ , and I’ll never forgive ya,” and tied it to tops of the spikes he’d made, creating a makeshift canopy for the night in less time than it took to smoke a cigarillo.

He stepped back, proud of his work, while the Shimadas struggled to process what they’d witnessed. “Well,” McCree started, “now you know how to make a shelter.

“We could have done that,” Genji muttered in Japanese, too chagrined to give voice to the words in a language the cowboy would understand. 

“Perhaps,” was Hanzo’s noncommittal response, his gaze fixed on McCree, watching as he tugged down the brim of his hat as though to say _you’re welcome_ , though they hadn’t properly thanked him yet, then sauntered back to the campfire with a huff and a nervous scratch of his cheek.

He plopped down beside the fire without a hint of grace, his shoulders hunching up to his ears, spine curving as he stared into the dancing flames as though he were struggling to appear as small as possible. 

Genji followed his brother’s line of sight, frowning slightly at the despondent cowboy. Then a mischievous gleam entered his chestnut brown eyes, and he rushed to find his knapsack. After a minute of rummaging through essentials, he pulled out a flattened bag of marshmallows. “Check out what I snagged back in the village.” Dodging any questions Hanzo might have raised about exactly how he'd snagged the sugary treat, the young ninja raced ahead to show them off to McCree, who jumped to his feet at the sight with a gleeful whoop that almost certainly alerted every animal in the forest to their exact location.

Since that was, essentially, the idea of camping out that night with an open fire, Hanzo let it pass. Nothing attracted a werewolf better than light and noise. And, also… it’d been some time since he’d seen this side of his little brother. 

Hanzo wasn’t sure if he had McCree to thank for it or the mission, but either way, he could stand to see a little more.

 

It was when they were all on their third marshmallow, with the taste of the cowboy’s whiskey still warm and buzzing on their tongues, that McCree suddenly asked if they’d ever killed a monster before. 

It wasn’t exactly a secret, so Genji volunteered the information without hesitation, the words coming out a mite muffled thanks to a mouth full of white goo, “Well, yes, but mostly vampires.” He carefully rotated his marshmallow, aiming for perfect golden brown, unlike the black, crispy exterior his first two failures had sported. “They’re kind of a problem in Hanamura.” A thoughtful hum escaped him. “But we did kill a kitsune once.”

Hanzo stiffened. McCree noticed the sudden shift in the eldest’s demeanor, but still ventured to ask about the creature.

“They are fox-spirits,” Hanzo supplied, watching without any sign of emotion as his own marshmallow began to slide off the tip of his arrow. “Tricksters.”

“It trapped me in a deal, ” Genji continued, picking up where he’d left off with a distant expression. “If I did not speak until the first ray of dawn, it would let me go, but if I did, if I said anything, I’d be spirited away, never to be seen again.”

“And you were alone on this hunt?” McCree struggled to suppress a growl at the mere thought of some kid, still wet behind the ears, facing down a monster without back-up. 

To the cowboy’s obvious relief, however, Genji shook his head. “I was not alone with the creature. Rather, the others could not interfere with the kitsune’s game. Not without risking their own souls.”

Hanzo poked the fire, his marshmallow now a bubbly black mass sitting in the ashes, “There are grave consequences to breaking the rules set by a kitsune.” 

“So, Hanzo challenged it to a new game. He said,” here, Genji deepened his voice until it served as a passible imitation of his brother’s deep and melodic tones, ‘If you can guess what I most regret, I will go with you willingly. But if you cannot, you will never show yourself before my brother or my family again.” He was please to see McCree leaning towards him now, enraptured by the story as though their lives were at stake in that very moment. “It agreed.”

Genji paused, purposefully drawing out the tension until McCree, unable to stand the anticipation any longer, blurted, “And?? Did it get it wrong? I mean, it must’ve, right? You two obviously ain’t spirits.”

“Actually, it was correct. But when it came to claim Hanzo, he," Genji thrust an arm forward, "stabbed it in the chest with an arrow.”

McCree blinked, squawking in disbelief, “And that _worked?!_ ”

Suddenly eager to move the conversation to a different topic, Genji jumped his shoulders in a shrug that reeked of false nonchalance. “It hasn’t bothered us again.”

“Well,” McCree glanced between the brothers, wondering why the air seemed to be growing colder despite the fire crackling at their fingertips, “what was the regret?”

Deflating, Genji sighed. “Sorry, you need to be at least Level 10 friendship to access that information. Right now, you’re at about 2, maybe 3 if you start grinding. Try again after-”

“It was my mother,” Hanzo murmured quietly, stunning Genji into silence. “I was unable to prevent her death.”

Though he didn’t turn to look at Hanzo directly, McCree’s eyes shone with sympathy. He, too, kept his voice low when he finally asked, “How old were you?”

“Four,” the answer came without hesitation, and Hanzo shrugged at the cowboy’s horror, his lips curling into a bitter smirk. “I never said it was rational.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, their food forgotten, the air filled with the sharp, acrid smell of burning sugar. It was shattered when McCree asked, “Do you ever wish you hadn’t done it?”

“Done what?” Genji snapped, his boyish features contorted in a startling burst of anger. “Killed the kitsune or saved my life?”

“I’m talking about killing it, of course.” This wasn’t good. Things had been going so well. McCree ardently wished he’d never brought up the subject of monsters. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find it in him to stop speaking now. He wanted to understand these hunters. He wanted to know why they did what they did, how they justified it. He hadn’t before, but things were different now. He was running out of time. “I’ve heard fox-spirits are beautiful, that’s all.” He allowed himself a nervous swallow. The brothers were exchanging heated glares, an entire conversation passing between them without either making a sound. “And old as dirt to boot.”

“If I had spared its life,” Hanzo said stiffly, “we would not be sitting here with you now.

Genji crossed his arms over his chest with a scoff. “Well, one of us wouldn’t.” Okay, it was time to get this boy to bed. He’d obviously had enough excitement and alcohol for one day. “Would you like to know how our mother died, cowboy?”

McCree flicked his golden eyes to Hanzo, who straightened, going so still it was a miracle his heart was even beating. “Genji, don’t-“

“Well, you’re looking at him.” Genji leapt to his feet, ignoring Hanzo’s pleas for him to calm down. “That’s what everyone believes isn’t it?” His expression cracked, anger bleeding into raw anguish and uncertainty. “It’s what you believe, _anija_.”

Genji wasn’t sure what’d he'd expected to see when he turned to face his brother, but it wasn’t the unshed tears shining in his dark eyes. “… Do you truly think so little of me?”

Genji’s mouth moved soundlessly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, until finally he turned on his heel to stomp away from the comforting light of the fire, heading deeper into the forest. “I'm going for a walk.”

McCree stood up, “Not sure that’s a good idea, _amigo_ ," but he was already gone.

Hanzo gathered his bow and quiver, sliding them over his shoulder with the deftness of muscle memory. “I’m going after him,” he announced shortly. 

McCree growled. “Not alone, you ain’t.”

Hanzo regarded him for a moment, registering the hard glint of determination in the cowboy’s earnest gaze, then nodded, and together they sprinted after him, calling Genji’s name with increasing urgency, when the clouds parted to unleash the full force of that night’s moon upon the world. 

And McCree froze in his tracks.

“What are you doing?” Hanzo snapped at him, concern for his brother clashing with boiling frustration. He stepped closer, reaching out to grab his arm, only to retreat when a low, bestial snarl erupted from the cowboy’s throat. “McCree?” His back arched, his spine popping as it came out of alignment. Unable to bear his own weight, McCree collapsed onto his knees, pinning his arms to his chest as his jaw lengthened into a muzzle filled from end to end with glittering fangs. 

Something garbled, guttural and strained, came ripping from the werewolf’s maw. “ _R-run!_ ”

Hanzo didn’t need to be told twice. He darted towards the side, intending to lead the creature away from both his brother and the village. It was hard to think beyond that, what with the fully grown werewolf tearing after him, loping over fallen logs and crashing through the underbrush as though it held little more substance to the beast than clouds or smoke or a low hanging fog. 

There were a few arrows left in his quiver, so Hanzo drew one, gripping it by the shaft as he struggled to maintain the frantic pace he'd set. With the werewolf following so closely on his heels, Hanzo could feel its warm breath pressing against his back. He estimated the distance as he unslung the compound bow from his shoulder to deftly nock the arrow. 

A rotten trunk blocked his path, forcing him to launch his body skywards in an attempt to clear it, and as he rose, he twisted, the arrow ready to be unleashed into the heart of the creature they’d been sent to kill. The beast bunch its corded muscles before it leapt after him, affording the archer a clear shot at its heart

Hanzo stared down the shaft, hissed out a breath, and… Golden eyes stared down at him without recognition, without joy or laughter. Just hunger, fear, and pain.

It was only a second, but the wolf didn't need more than that to be upon him. Curved fangs dripping with saliva sank into his shoulder, and Hanzo tossed his head back with an anguished howl. It burned, igniting his blood, tainting his veins like gasoline. 

“Hanzo!” At the startled shout, the wolf released him, then swiveled its thick neck to spot Genji standing in the wake of its destruction, his _katana_ gleaming an otherworldly green in the moonlight.

Roaring wordlessly, he charged the wolf, intending to fell the creature by driving his blade through its heart, but then the wolf did something strange. Its dilated pupils shrank to needlepoint pinpricks, and it bucked, tearing and biting and clawing at its hide as though suffering an allergic reaction to its own skin, which stretched, elastic, then ripped and tore, coming off in gruesome patches which gave way to the tanned flesh underneath. 

Its eyes rolled, wild, terrified, and in terrible pain. The transformation of a man into a wolf went against nature, against reason and logic. That did not mean the return to its original form was any less agonizing, as the same bones were made to break and reset, allowing the werewolf to stand tall as a man once more.

But McCree did not stand.

He sank to the ground, collapsing onto his knees, while Genji stared in disbelief at both the shaking, heaving form in front of him, and the moonlight glinting off the steady stream of crimson seeping out of the puncture wounds in his brother’s shoulder.

If McCree was the very werewolf they’d been searching for, than he should have remained shifted until the first rays of dawn had peeked over the horizon, and yet, how was it that he was back to normal? The cowboy raised his chin, the sweaty clumps of his brown hair plastered across his brow, falling over eyes that shone with a mix of horror for what he’d done, and defiance for the price he expected to pay for it. 

Despite having completed his shift, the sharp points of abnormally long canines protruded from under the cowboy’s upper lip, the subtle glow from his golden irises reflecting off of Genji’s blade. 

With fury rising to replace his initial shock, Genji raised his _katana_ , pressing it against McCree’s throat with enough pressure to draw a bead of blood around the tip. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t feed the vultures with your corpse, _compadre._ ”

Thanks in no small part to the sheer venom with which the younger Shimada spat the friendly address at him, McCree couldn’t quite manage to suppress a wince, but refused to lower his head or tear his gaze away from the irate ninja. To meet death head-on was the way of the warrior. If circumstances had been different, altered ever so slightly, Genji might have even wished to spare him for his spirit alone. 

He’d never agreed with the clan’s callousness when it came to dispatching monsters, most of whom used to be human themselves, yet this man who he’d slowly began to look upon as a companion, who’d told corny jokes and traded stories with them beneath the starry sky, had effectively doomed his brother. There could be no infection within the clan. As such, the penalty for receiving a bite from a werewolf or a vampire was always a swift death.

If he brought Hanzo back to the clan now, they would kill him.

“Genji!” They both turned at the shout to see Hanzo swaying unsteadily as he struggled to stand. “That is enough.”

The rage and hardening resolve distorting Genji’s boyish features faded, slipping towards the much truer devastation hidden within the storm. 

“Hanzo, he-“

“I know.” Hanzo stepped closer at a steady pace, as though concerned that moving too quickly could further destabilize Genji. The last thing he wanted was to sending him fleeing into the night, yet he couldn’t stand back and watch him taint his sword. Clan law forbade the use of their weapons against ordinary humans, which was all McCree was now. “But killing him now will not undo what has been done.”

He was close enough to touch Genji’s arm now, to wrap his fingers around the white-knuckled hands wrapped around the hilt of his blade and carefully guide his _katana_ until its tip rested on the dirt. Then Genji released the hilt, allowing the blade to fall. It was still falling when Genji felt himself pulled into a desperate embrace, his brother’s palm coming to rest on the back of his head while the other wrapped around his shoulder to gently press against his back. “Trust in me, little brother,” Hanzo whispered in the musical, lilting language he could still recall their mother using to sooth the growing, fussy child in her womb. “If there is a way, I will find it.”

According to the clan’s teachings, he had a duty and responsibility to end the cycle and regain his honor by taking his own life, but there was a subtle tremor running through Genji’s back, followed by a series of quiet, tired gasps as he tried to hold back the sob threatening to rip from his throat. Tears welled, spilling over until Genji burrowed his head against Hanzo’s _gi_ in shame. It didn’t keep them from soaking into the fabric, spreading warmth upon contact, and Hanzo realized what he’d already known – After reaching adulthood without ever knowing the mother who’d loved him enough to die so that he may live, after enduring a childhood with a father who could not look upon him without seeing a ghost, and eventually losing him, too, Hanzo was the only family he had left. 

He would live in disgrace, without a home or a clan to return to, always on the run from hunters like himself.

But he would live. 

Until Genji was ready to face the world without his older brother around to guide him, he would live.


	3. A gentle beating heart

McCree, who’d thus far held his tongue for fear that the Shimada would change their minds about sparing him, felt his teeth begin to chatter in the chilly mountain air. His shirt was shredded to kingdom come, jeans little more than strips of torn cloth that rustled when a shiver ripped through him, loosening his lips enough to allow a low groan to escape. 

Wincing, he looked up to see the brothers staring down at him, one considering, the other still considerably murderous. 

Keeping his eyes on him, Genji hissed something low and furious, too quickly for McCree to understand even with all the snippets of Japanese he’d picked up during his time in the East. Hanzo’s response was soft, composed, and the younger of the two seemed to sag. Then he bent to pick up his sword. McCree stiffened, certain he’d be seeing his abuela again soon, when against expectations, Genji slipped the blade back into its sheath. 

“There is a legend of a flower in Europe that can neutralize the lycanthropy if it is ingested before the first full moon. My brother believes that you can help us find it.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to bite anyone-“

“No,” Genji interrupted, his voice sharp, “you meant to kill us.”

“Hey, don’t act like you’ve got the moral high ground here. You both were planning on killin’ _me_ , remember? That’s why ya came here in the first place.” While he spoke, Hanzo shifted to increase the pressure on his wound, and McCree, catching the movement, averted his eyes with a heavy sigh. “And, anyway, I changed my mind. Just didn’t make a whole lotta difference in the end.”

“What you have said is true,” Hanzo said, addressing McCree for the first time since the whole ‘fur and claws’ thing happened. “Had we known your true nature, you would not have lasted long in our company. Does this mean you will refuse to aid us in our search?”

Slightly out of his older brother’s line of sight, Genji put on the biggest, meanest, most foreboding grin he’d seen in all his twenty-seven years, which was saying a lot when he’d spent a good chuck of his adolescence with Deadlock, before something better came along. Then the people he’d grown to care about either died, went missing, or engaged in some weird combination of the two. 

If he agreed to go roaming around Europe in search of a legendary cure-all, the probability of him running into some old ghosts was high. High enough to make a man nervous.

On the other hand, it might be that he was past due for a reunion. 

“Nah, I’m not sayin’ that.” The eldest Shimada relaxed slightly. McCree tried not to focus on it too much. “Circumstances aside, can’t deny that I got ya into this mess. Least I can do is help get ya out of it.”

As a reward for his altruism, they dragged him back to the camp like a criminal. His serape was where he’d left it, at least. Still providing some shelter from the elements, and he laid under it, thinking of the immense expanse of stars just beyond its thin fabric, of the constellations that shifted and changed, a sky completely unlike what he’d seen growing up in New Mexico.

When the quiet murmuring by the fire where Genji was patching up the pretty puncture wounds he’d left in his brother raised in volume, McCree tugged the brim of his hat over eyes, hoping it’d be enough to shut the sound out so he could finally get some shut-eye.

It wasn’t. 

He wasn’t sure what the argument was about, but he hazarded a guess that the eldest won it, because Genji came stomping by his resting ground not long after, threw his knapsack on the dirt, then yanked his sleeping bag around his legs and torso with violent force, before finally collapsing into a prone position, graceful as an overweight caterpillar falling off a leaf. 

“Big brother taking first watch?” McCree muttered under the brim of his hat. 

“Don’t talk to me.” And to think he’d pegged Hanzo as the prickliest of the bunch.

McCree did what was asked of him until the breathing next to his little shelter finally evened out into sleep, then he climbed out, stretching and popping his joints as he made his way to the fireplace where Hanzo was staring out into the forest with an inscrutable expression. He seemed distant, like his body was there but his mind was already somewhere else. McCree scuffed his shoes on a stone to make sure he didn’t startle the archer, though it wasn’t exactly a surprise when the sound didn’t garner much of a reaction. 

Since Hanzo obviously knew he was there and wasn’t asking him to leave or jump off of something high, McCree settled in beside him. “Hey there. Mind if I join you?”

“Are you certain you should be speaking with me? I am not feeling so charitable as to stay my brother’s hand twice."

“Did ya mean it? All that about you finding a way out of this, I mean. If I’m signing up for this, then I’d like to know that I don’t have to worry about you doing something ya’ll might regret.”

“It is not that I have not been considering taking… extreme measures.” Behind them, Genji’s breathing suddenly spiked, the difference subtle enough that one would likely hear it only if they were listening for it. “If something were to happen to me, there would be nothing to keep him from returning to the clan and taking my place, but… he has lost so much already. I owe it to him to try.

“I reckon that’s about all ya can do. But,” Mcree leaned back, allowing his hat to slide off his crown and rest against his neck, “if it makes ya feeling any better, I’ve seen good men break from gettin’ handed a deck like this.” A bemused frown suggested that Hanzo was unsure as to how that was supposed to make him feel better, but McCree was getting to that part, and so he continued, undaunted. Because if he never said another word to the archer, it’d be alright, so long as these were the last words he ever said. “Somethin’ tells me you’re a heck of a lot stronger than you’re givin’ yourself credit for.”

Hanzo regarded him for a long time after that, long enough for McCree to feel a flush begin to creep up his check, then shifted to stare hard into the fire, a scrunch in his brow as he impatiently tucked a lock of shimmering black hair behind his ear, making him seem quietly frustrated.

Finally, the archer’s shoulders sagged, drawing McCree’s attention to them, and the bandage wrapped expertly around his right shoulder blade, with dots of crimson already peeking through the layers. Even if he was a hunter, Hanzo was barely older than he was, and Genji was younger than the both of them.

Following them out here had been a stupid mistake. He should have stayed in that bar – “ _Arigato._ ”

McCree’s mouth dropped open, sure he’d misheard or misunderstood somehow, but Hanzo made no attempt to explain or correct himself, and so they fell back into a prolonged period of silence that, this time, didn’t bother McCree in the slightest.

 

The next day, they grudgingly left Hanzo with their belongings, and headed back down into the village to stock up on supplies and book a flight to Switzerland. It was rumored that wolfsbane, a medicinal herb renowned for its healing properties, as well as for being poisonous to wolves, could still be found high in the Alps, where few dared to tread. 

Thinking of the sight of Hanzo’s back fading in the distance, Genji coldly told the villagers that their werewolf problem had been taken care of. It would not be bothering them again. Only McCree heard the bitter half-truth in his words for what it was, but the villagers, while grateful, denied them payment without proof of the werewolf’s demise. 

Genji accepted their decision without complaint. Both he and Hanzo carried cards with unlimited access to the clan’s funds in their pockets, and while they’d almost certainly be cut off after the tickets for their unsanctioned trip to Switzerland were purchased, it would be more than enough to get them what they needed and where they needed to be. 

The villagers could keep their worthless money. 

Before the day was over, Genji had them sitting in First Class in a plane making its way towards Switzerland, More specifically, they were set to land in an airport located about a stone’s throw from the Alps. 

It was a pleasant ride as far as the atmosphere went. McCree had never sat so close to the cockpit before, and the special attention paid to them by the flight attendants – a whiskey on the rocks served with a sandwich sure beat a bag of peanuts – had him wondering if he could ever go back to suffering quietly in coach, with the screaming rugrats and rhythmic pounding on the back of his seat. 

Enjoying the subtle rock of the plane, McCree allowed his eyelids to slide closed, willed his breathing to even, his heartbeat to slow. Unfortunately, years of living among the sort of unsavory folk who were just as likely to put a bullet through the skull of a friend as they were to shoot down a target had left him keenly aware of when negative thoughts were aimed in his direction. Alarm stirred in his chest, enough to gain his attention without clouding his thoughts, which was something he’d had to work on back when the wolf’s instincts compounded his own. It was enough to have him shoving down the urge to either bare his teeth or cut loose and run whenever someone so much as looked at him funny. Still, he didn’t need his superhuman intuition to know who was stewing up a storm. All he had to do was look to his right, and then down slightly, to see the ninja with the full head of green hair glowering darkly at the back of the seat in front of him. “Darlin’, could ya hate me a little quieter? I’m tryin’ to get my beauty rest.”

Sparing the cowboy a brief glance, Genji scoffed. “In that respect, no amount of silence could aid you.”

Hanzo, who’d been silent for the majority of the flight, content to watch the clouds pass beneath their window, slipped a hand over his mouth to suppress a light chuckle.

With his long strands of black hair tied back into a low ponytail that rested beneath his shoulder blades, so loose that stray locks slipped out to frame high, prominent cheekbones, as well as the shadows collecting around them, McCree thought he was just about the prettiest thing he’d ever seen and told him so.

Though color stained his pale cheeks at the praise, the archer recovered quickly, rolling his eyes as though McCree were being patently ridiculous.

While McCree stubbornly insisted that Hanzo was, in fact, “prettier than a sunflower in the summer,” Genji flagged down a passing flight attendant, a polite, calculatedly bland smile curling his lips. 

“Hi, could I possibly have some ear mufflers, please?” Her agreement came instantly. She moved to fetch a pair from the back when Genji suddenly blurted, as though he’d nearly forgotten to ask, “Oh! And one pair for my brother, too, please.” 

She returned quickly with the desired items, then handed them both to Genji, who reached over the cowboy sitting next to him to pass Hanzo a pair. 

McCree watched with a slight pout as Genji pointedly yanked the noise-canceling headset over his ears. In contrast, Hanzo’s smile when he place his own on was almost apologetic. 

Almost. 

It wasn’t long before a series of soft, breathy snores heralded the young heir of the Shimada clan’s departure into dreamless sleep

“He’s actually asleep, I think,” McCree muttered, before shifting to level a pronounced frown at the younger of the two, unimpressed by his considerably louder snores. “Not like you, you dang faker.”

At that, one of Genji’s eyes slid open. Though McCree didn’t dare touch Hanzo, who’d never woken either of them to switch shifts the previous night, he jerked his head violently towards the azure scales creeping over the skin of an exposed shoulder, his gi having slipped lower in his sleep. They continued up his neck like a rash, following the shape of his muscles until they collected in a shimmering patch under his chin. “You want to tell me what this is?”

Instead of immediately formulating a reply, Genji studied the trail in silence. Finally, he removed his headset, “Legend tells of a pair of dragon brothers who ruled the sky, until one felled the other. Many years later, the surviving dragon met a man who wished him peace. He revealed himself to be the fallen dragon brother, reincarnated as a human, and the Dragon of the South Wind sacrificed its powerful form to walk the earth by his side. It is said that those dragon brothers were the ancestors of the Shimada, and there are those of their bloodline who carry their power within them to this day. It might be that our dragon ancestors are trying to protect him.”

It was a lot to take in at once. For a moment, McCree couldn’t bring himself to look at him, so he focused on the back of the seat in front of him, instead, and dug his nails into his plastic armrest. When he managed to speak, he was surprised to hear his voice come out calm and steady, though anyone who knew him would be able to tell how fragile that calm was, “Dragons, huh? You’re going to have to forgive me if I have a little trouble believin’ that, partner.”

He didn’t need to turn to know that Genji was glowering at him, it was easy enough to feel the uncomfortable weight and heat of the young hunter’s glare pressing against his skull. “You once turned into a wolf during the full moon, cowboy. And now you have condemned my brother to a similar fate.” McCree flinched at the unnecessary reminder. “Do you truly believe you are in a position to doubt my words?”

Luminescent green swirled like a storm beneath the surface of his almond brown eyes, and McCree forced down a nervous swallow, suddenly certain that, contrary to his belief, he hadn’t been the most dangerous thing in the woods last night.

“If you’re both going to fight this entire trip,” Hanzo muttered grumpily without opening his eyes, “then find someplace else to sit.” 

He then rolled over in a clear dismissal, and the pair settled into a grudging, chastened silence. That is until Genji began repeatedly snapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth to fill that silence. Every few minutes, he’d shift, crossing and uncrossing his arms over his chest, and heave a put-upon sigh. After about the third round of this, McCree glanced at Hanzo to see if it was getting on his nerves, but as far as he could tell, the other man was truly dead to the world. 

From his strategic placement between the siblings, McCree could tell that the surrounding seats were all full. Finally, when the grating clicking and restless movements had gotten to his last nerve and chewed it to pieces, he fixed a scowl on his mug, fully prepared to convince the younger Shimada to stop his fidgeting or die in the attempt, but the words died on his lips when the hunter side-eyed him with a smug and knowing grin. 

“You little-” McCree nearly blew his top right then and there, but censored himself when a stern looking flight attendant walked by. Though he was seething internally, it wasn’t hard to guess why the kid was giving him a hard time, so McCree yanked his hat down, jamming it against his face with enough force to make him wince, and focused on shutting out the sounds... until a hand on his shoulder roughly shook him awake. 

“Up and at ‘em, cowboy.” Ah. That sounded a lot like the little brother he’d never wanted. McCree cracked an eye open to see a shock of green hair so close it was nearly poking him in the eye, then looked over to see Hanzo staring at the pair of them with blatant exasperation and what might have been a hint of fondness. He always looked so dignified… completely unlike the jokester leaning so far over McCree he was practically in his lap. Grumbling a few choice words under his breath, McCree pushed him off, ignoring the way Genji bounced back without seeming fazed in the slightest. 

A quick scan of the plan revealed that most of the passengers had exited, which was pretty much the nightmare scenario when you were trying to get off the plane unnoticed, but there was no helping it now. Still, the bluish flush of scales had spread across Hanzo’s cheeks while he’d slept. Gesturing vaguely to him, McCree made his concerns known, “What do ya’ll plan to do if someone notices?”

Carefully grazing a finger over his cheeks and nose, Hanzo looked briefly troubled, then his gaze flicked to Genji and any vulnerability that might have slipped through the cracks fell back beneath still waters. He shrugged, seemingly flippant, “You could always say you captured me.”

“Sure, okay.” Palming his forehead, Genji groused, “We’ll say you’re a kappa.” – “No, you will not.” – “And to really sell it, we’ll shave a little bald patch on your scalp.”

A flash of icy blue flitted under the surface of Hanzo’s dark eyes. “You can certainly try, _otouto._ ”

The air was charged, electric and smelling of ozone. Not for the first time, McCree wondered how the hunters had ever survived without him. “Ease up, the both of ya. It’s just a joke.” He bent to dig into the duffle bag at his feet, then pulled a black hoodie that fit snugly on him, but would still maintain a good two or three fingers worth of space if Hanzo put it on. At first, Hanzo stared at the garment skeptically, only to hastily slip it on when the flight attendant making her rounds paused in front of their row. 

“Excuse me, sirs,” she gestured towards the exit, “we’ll be calling for the next flight’s passengers soon. Please gather your belongings and exit the plane.” It didn’t take them long to get moving, since everything they owned was packed in carry-ons, and then they shuffled off, with both McCree and Genji making a show of being cordial to compensate for Hanzo’s bowed head and silence. It may have done more harm than good, as the contrast was stark, but the staff were preoccupied with preparing for the next trip, and thus paid them little mind beyond a farewell and the expressed hope that they enjoyed their flight. 

Getting Hanzo past security proved to be somewhat more difficult when they were trying to hide his features, so Genji told him to walk tall, show his face, and wear those scales like they were some Grade A costume make-up. The easiest people to spot were those who acted like they had something to hide. McCree could almost hear the security guards’ internal monologue as they rationalized his cowboy get-up, Genji’s hunter attire, and Hanzo’s supernatural quirks. 

Afterwards, they rented a car to take them to the mountain range located about twenty minutes in any direction. McCree handled the driving while Hanzo stared moodily out the window in the passenger seat and Genji laid passed out in the back. There was something about the way the wind rushing through the slight gap between the window and its frame kept lifting and shifting ebony strands of the archer’s hair that kept drawing Jesse’s gaze back to him, which would have been worrying under normal circumstances, but was even more so when he needed to keep his wandering eyes on the road. 

Though there wasn’t much to go on when it came to the wolfsbane - some of the rangers they came across once they reached the mountain even claimed that the stuff had been burned right out of existence during the Omnic Crisis when the automatons had tried to set the world on fire – they climbed to a high altitude, where the air pressure was just shy of uncomfortable, and took shifts searching for the elusive plant. Meanwhile, Jesse struggled to recall Angela’s phone number. After he’d been bitten, he’d deliberately cut his ties with everyone from his past, but something told him she had to be in Switzerland somewhere. With her family dead, missing, or thrown to the high winds, the only place left for her to go was home. 

But even knowing her skill set and propensity for helping people, she could have been in any hospital or clinic. 

Fourteen days passed, each of them following the same routine of climbing up and down and sideways on the mountain, before the time came when Hanzo refused to leave his tent.


	4. Swept away by sin

To his credit, McCree honestly believed that the reason the older Shimada was taking so long to join them for breakfast was because he’d overslept – they were all running themselves ragged, after all – but then lunch rolled around and Genji started pointedly averting his gaze whenever McCree caught him staring.

After a while, McCree’d had about enough of the games, and thus climbed grudgingly to his feet, muscles protesting after holding a crouched position for so long. His suspicions were subsequently confirmed when Genji scrambled to stand, as well. Oh, he tried to play it off, but for all that he was a trained hunter and killer, his poker face needed work. 

Before McCree could take a single step in the direction of Hanzo’s tent, the green-haired menace had already positioned himself solidly in front of it. Though the usual wariness with which he regarded the McCree had gained an almost sheepish edge to it, and his hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, he made no move to let McCree pass, to the point where he actively prevented him from doing so whenever the cowboy tried to sidestep him. 

Three or so requests for McCree to back off and do literally anything else later, and he’d had about enough. Drawing himself to his full height so that he towered over the young hunter, McCree curled back his upper lip to reveal his canines, immediately setting Genji on edge, then uttered in a slow, deliberate drawl, “Alright, now I’ve had it up to here with bein' kept in the dark, so this is the only warning yer gonna get - get the hell out of my way.” 

Hand inching towards the hilt of his sword, Genji addressed the threat with an uneasy grin, tacked on with his own accented, “Afraid I can’t do that, _vaquero._ Promises to keep and all that.” McCree fixed him with an exceptionally unimpressed look, then grabbed him by the shoulders and, ignoring his protests, lifted him off the ground to gracelessly deposit him on the side, after which he raced through the coarse fabric panels to burst into the tent with Genji on his heels. 

Hanzo looked up at them from the sleeping bag he'd huddled in with horror, before quickly addressing Genji with an accusing, “I thought I told you not to let him in here!”

Frowning, Genji rolled his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Short of killing him, there wasn’t much I could do.” For a moment, however, the thought seemed to cheer him, and he quipped, “That’s still an option, though.”

Their exchange passed harmlessly over McCree’s head, didn’t even make a dent in his brainpan, because sitting atop Hanzo’s crown was the most magnificent pair of horns he’d ever seen. They branched out from his scalp like a stag’s antlers, healthy, strong, and pearlescent in the sunlight filtering in from the ceiling. 

Catching him staring, Hanzo’s brief surprise morphed into a guarded scowl. “Turn your eyes elsewhere, cowboy,” he hissed, edging forward. “I am not some zoo animal to be gawked at at your leisure.” 

And McCree nodded, not stepping back, not backing down, but not encroaching on his space, either. He knew what it was like to feel shame creeping up your neck every time anyone so much as looked at you. 

Hanzo watched him closely, studying his reaction with slit pupils staring out from red-rimmed lids, before relaxing his shoulders with a quiet sigh. The next time he looked up, he seemed calmer, and the shapes of his eyes had returned to normal. Gesturing vaguely, he said to Genji, “I know you’re not going to like what I have to say,” folding his arms over his chest, Genji arced a brow, “but could you step outside for a moment? I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“Are you kidding me?! After what he did-“

“ _Please_ , brother.” Offset by the plaintive tone, Genji’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. They waited while Hanzo collected himself, breathing in and out through nostrils that flared with each steady inhale. He scrubbed at his face, feeling the rough scales beneath his calloused palms, and tried again, “Five minutes is all I ask.” A strange smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as Genji seemed to consider it, “And you can remain close by in case I need you.”

McCree looked on as they regarded each other in a silent battle of wills, feeling oddly out of place, then startled when Genji threw his hands up with an exasperated huff and turned to step outside through the panels. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Not like I wasn’t going to do that, anyways.”

Hanzo’s gaze tracked his departure, settled on the exit for a time, then shifted to McCree. There was something different about him now, a quality of otherworldliness that set McCree’s teeth on edge. It was as though he were standing in the presence of a being that could tear him apart with a thought, something ancient and powerful beyond his imagination. 

Then Hanzo blinked, breaking the spell. He looked away, staring at the ground on the far side of the tent while Jesse released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. If what Genji had told him was true, then those dragon ancestors really were something else. 

A heavy sigh rushed out of the archer, causing him to appear smaller as his shoulders hunched with the action. Exhaustion and resignation clinging to his every word, he whispered, “No one’s seen wolfsbane in over a decade.” 

McCree scratched his head. “Yeah, but we knew the odds were slim from the start. Kind of comes with the territory when you’re searching for a miracle.”

Something that might have been the beginnings of smile darted across Hanzo’s newly draconic features, before he quickly shut it down. Biting his lower lip with sharpened canines, he asked,“And have you thought of a way to contact Angela Ziegler?” As he spoke, McCree stared at the claws anxiously scratching the fabric of his pale kimono in a repetitive motion. They were going to wear a hole through the cloth at this rate, but he wasn’t sure how Hanzo would feel about him pointing that out, or how he would feel about what he really wanted to do, which was to clasp those restless hands in his own.

Taking his silence for an answer, Hanzo frowned, “The full moon approaches. Soon, this change will become permanent and my brother will lose his home,” lowering his head, he added, so quietly McCree almost didn’t catch it, “as I have already lost mine.” 

Pretending he’d been meant to hear those words, McCree stood a little taller, and without quite looking at Hanzo, said, “You think so? Seems to me like his home ain’t so much a place as it is a person.” He could feel Hanzo’s attention like a physical weight, but when he finally looked down to see if he could hazard a guess as to what the man was feeling, it was to find that his attention had already drifted back towards the panels they’d last seen Genji slip through, as though he might be able to see through them if he concentrated. 

He didn’t want to leave his little brother alone, McCree got that, but staying alive for someone else’s sake could get taxing really quick if you didn’t also have a reason to stay alive for your own sake. 

And maybe, just a little, McCree didn’t want Hanzo to give up on himself, either. They were just starting to get to know each other, after all, and he was pretty sure Genji was beginning to warm up to him again, and that was a blooming friendship that would almost certainly end poorly if Hanzo wound up dying and Genji wound up murdering him.

“Bite me.” Hanzo looked up sharply, startled. “It’ll give us another month.”

There wasn’t a trace of levity on the cowboy’s face to be found because he was dead serious about this. Maybe they couldn’t cure Hanzo yet, but if he transferred the curse then they might be able to extend the deadline. And McCree was willing to do it. He’d even be a wolf again if that was what it took. 

After fixing him with a long, measured look, Hanzo told him with the air of someone repeating a lesson learned at a young age, “It will not work. You cannot contract the virus more than once.” 

McCree didn’t know if that were true. He’d never taken the time to learn about how his curse worked, nor had he ever been trained to fight the supernatural, though Reyes may have imparted some of the basics onto him, once upon a time. Finally, and with one hand nervously rubbing his neck, he began to suggest the only alternative he could think of, “Well, there is one other way…”

But before he could even get the idea out, Hanzo motioned for him to stop talking, “I am not doing that.”

Instead of giving up on the idea, though, he elaborated, “Listen, I ain’t got no family, and my friends probably already think I’m dead. Ain’t nobody is gonna miss me if I'm gone. But you-“

“I am not listening to this.” And Hanzo surged to his feet, brushing past him with a palpable anger emanating from his form as he stormed out of the tent without a second glance. Grumbling under his breath, McCree made to go after him, only to come to a sudden halt when the flat of a katana smacked against his chest. 

He looked up to see Genji grinning widely at him as Hanzo’s back disappeared beyond the treeline. “Hey, hold on a second there, Jesse.” McCree gulped, unable to fathom how anyone could sound so dang chipper and be absolutely terrifying at the same time. “Now, was that my imagination or did my brother look _very_ upset just now?”

 

Hanzo didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he’d made the snap decision to wander into the forest alone. Something about McCree’s offer and his complete lack of self worth had rankled him for reasons beyond his understanding. 

More to the point, however, he refused to take the life of an innocent to save his own. It went against his moral code, and while McCree’s particular brand of innocence may have erred towards the gray, the truth of the matter was that he had, to the best of their knowledge, taken no human lives during his transformations, and had transferred his curse without intending to. 

His instincts told him that taking the cowboy’s life in recompense for his actions would be folly, not justice. 

He wandered until his breath steamed in the cool air, certain that he was keeping a consistent distance from the campsite. As vexed as he was – and getting his horns caught in low-hanging branches certainly wasn’t improving his mood – he was no fool. 

Even so, it wasn’t as though there were truly anything in the forest that could harm him, not even in his current state or, perhaps, especially not in his current state. 

It was as though a dial within him had been turned all the way to its maximum setting. A soft hum, once blended seamlessly into the background of his mind, had been blasted through a loud speaker, and now he could feel nature in his bloodstream, the sunshine in his veins. He was both a part of his environment, and empowered by it. 

He didn’t notice how dark his surroundings had become until the shadows cast by the trees and bushes began to blend. Certain now that it was past time he returned, he began retracing his steps, only to discover that his surroundings appeared unchanging no matter how far he walked, as though he were trapped in a loop. 

Stopping in his tracks in the center of the very circle of trees in which he’d started, Hanzo glanced at the ground to see a soft blue light cast upon the ground, then glanced at his tattoo to discover that he was the cause of the ethereal light. As he watched, the scaled crown of an azure dragon breached the surface of his skin, but though his eyes widened considerably, no sound passed his lips. 

That did not mean, however, that the forest was silent. 

Laughter echoed through the woods, high-pitched and horrible, followed by the softly luminescent visage of a young woman with silver hair so long it brushed against her bare feet and the snow-white tails protruding from her back. 

Upon locking her unsettling golden eyes on him, her scarlet mouth split into a fanged grin. 

“It would seem that your ancestors have not forgotten me, young one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lycanthropy works a little differently here, so here's a few ways to get rid of it.
> 
> 1) Pass it on to someone else
> 
> 2) Drink a wolfsbane cocktail
> 
> 3) Kill the one who passed on the curse


	5. As I am born again

She circled him, moving fluidly as she prowled like a scavenger waiting for its prey to die. Following her movements, not letting her out of his sight for a second, Hanzo bared his teeth in a growl, “How did you find me?” The last he had seen of her, her lifeblood had been pouring from the gash he’d carved in her throat, yet there wasn’t so much as a scar, every inch of her was as inhumanly flawless as it had been the day she’d attempted to trap Genji in the spirit realm. 

“It is difficult to find a dim light in the dark, but you, my pretty little deceiver?” Fingernails like talons darted beneath his chin, their points pressing into the unguarded flesh as she forced his head to rise so that he could stare into the molten gold of her eyes. So close he could feel the chill of her breath upon his cheek, she whispered, “You are ablaze.” 

For an instant, the pressure increased to become sharply painful, only to lessen when she leapt several feet back to increase the distance between them. Scowling deeply, Hanzo rubbed at the stinging patch of skin beneath his chin with the back of his hand, glancing down at his knuckles to see the red smear across them. As she watched, the kitsune’s cutting smile only widened, “You thought I was dead, didn’t you?” A ringing laugh, horrible and beautiful, stabbed Hanzo’s eardrums. “I am a thousand years old,” she purred from deep within her chest, melodic tones dripping with dangerous sensuality as she once again drew closer, heedless of the twisting, writhing spirits that lashed out at her approach. Sparing them but a single glance, she continued, “you cannot kill me.” 

Her hands settled on his sleeve, she pressed herself against his side, and rested her head on his shoulder so that her jaw brushed his collarbone and her voluminous and liquid blond hair tickled his skin. Every point of contact burned. “You could, however, kill the one who did this to you.” Hanzo’s spine grew rigid. “He is merely a weak human now. It would be very easy.”

Snarling, he yanked his arm away from her, “Nothing you have said surprises me.” Still, he made no attempt to leave, as there was nowhere he could go where she could not – would not follow. 

Though her eyes widened briefly at his resistance, the kitsune merely laughed once more, forcing the young hunter at her mercy to suppress a pained wince. “Then why haven’t you?” Her presence flowed over him, as befit an existence of constant motion, everywhere and nowhere. Clinging to more than his body, her claws dug into his soul, piercing and hooked. “Why do you hesitate?” It was as though her words alone had flooded his mind, drowning his thoughts, killing his will. Having endured the effects of her influence before, Hanzo had hoped that he might be able to escape alone what a handful of the Shimada’s best hunters and his brother had not, yet now that he was pinned under the full force of her undivided attention, the effects were overwhelming. “I could end his life in your place, dragonling.” Moving slowly, with muscles reluctant to obey his will, Hanzo tilted his head in an unspoken question, and swallowed down a distant, rising dread that struggled fruitlessly against the calm descending over him. For a reason he was sure he knew, had known, the kitsune appeared pleased. “And all I ask is that you give me the Sparrow in return.” 

As she spoke and shifted, swathing Hanzo in her sweet, heady scent, he struggled to focus past the building roar in his ears. His head drooped, allowing his gaze to fall to her silk kimono, where on the blank, shimmering expanse, a small sparrow had appeared. The little bird with its tan and tawny feathers flitted about, bumping against the fabric’s hem repeatedly, its beak opening and closing in silent, desperate chirps. It looked pitifully up at him, with achingly familiar brown eyes. 

“Would you take me, instead?” Hanzo blinked, confused by the sound of his own voice. The roaring grew louder. 

The kitsune hummed, as though thinking it over. “I seem to recall you offering your life to me once before.” Several points of agony screamed to life on his arm, briefly clearing Hanzo’s mind, and he glanced down at where her hands gripped him to see pricks of crimson staining his sleeve. With a soft sigh, like the falling of leaves, she explained, “Your soul is changing, dragonling. It’s no fun to play with my own kind. They are resistant to my charms. But your brother and I could have such fun.” Snarling, feral and draconic, chased away the lingering effects of her presence with the fury of a forest fire. The kitsune did not seem to notice, however, as she continued with a flippant flick of her wrist, “Until age or madness claimed him, of course.” 

Fear and anger consumed him, overpowering his reason, and Hanzo lunged at her, no longer caring if he were a man or a beast. He would be whatever he had to be to make sure she never again laid a hand on his brother. 

Her centuries of experience put him at a disadvantage, though, and she sailed effortlessly away from the blow, rising high into the false night before arcing to land on a small hill. Involuntarily, Hanzo’s gaze flicked to the sparrow on her cloth, where the bird had ceased to move, and now lay still. “Unfortunately, humans are so very fragile. So easy to break.” With a dramatic flourish, she lifted her kimono to reveal a curled and frozen corpse at her feet, its jaw unhinged in an eternal scream.

 

McCree had barely managed to stutter out an explanation when Genji winced, a hand rising to his temple as his gaze drifted to the treeline. Now, normally McCree would’ve been quite happy to see him distracted, since he wasn’t exactly fond of being held against his will at swordpoint, but Hanzo had disappeared into those woods not five minutes ago and the cowboy knew a warning when he saw one. 

And sure enough, Genji lowered his blade, “Something’s wrong.” Not bothering to clue Jesse into what was going on, he took off towards the trees, and McCree sprinted after him, doing his best to keep up. He’d always thought himself in decent shape, but the ninja’s speed was borderline superhuman. Even so, he didn’t let up, instead choosing to pump his legs and arms like he was running for the very last time in his life. 

He didn’t expect Genji to suddenly stop at the border, though, his fingers threading through his vibrant green spikes with frustration. Before McCree could even find the time to ask what the problem was, he snarled, “There’s a barrier, Jesse. Just like before.” 

Biting back a curse, the cowboy paced, his mind grinding like an engine with no oil. Then a shining light caught his eye, one that Genji didn’t register because he was too focused on what was in front of him to look down. Grinning without humor, McCree sidled up next to the ninja, “Yeah, that sure does sound like a problem.” He nudged him. “Now, if only one of us had weird, glowing green magic.”

Confused and annoyed, Genji’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What are you talking about?” He followed Jesse’s line of sight to the swirling mist circling about the steel of his blade, understanding dawning. “Oh.” Shifting his balance, he lowered his stance to optimize the power of his strike, then thrust it forward. The instant the tip plunged through the barrier, a dome-like and transparent wall blinked in front of them. It had always been there, but as McCree had ceased to be a part of the supernatural, it was as though it were appearing for the first time. At its surface, the entire spectrum of colors emanated, curling and dissipating like wisps of steam. A crack appeared in the wall, originating from where the sword had punctured, followed by another, and they spread upwards and sideways, from top to bottom. A screech split the air, the colors vanished, and then the entire barrier collapsed in a shower of dead shards. 

The pair spared a single glance at the strangeness of the experience before forging ahead, because now that the obscuring magic had been dispelled, they could clearly see a path of footprints in the snow.

 

Hanzo stared in open-mouthed horror at the body lying at the unbearably smug kitsune’s feet. Stumbling forward, he tripped in the snow, causing him to fall to his knees. He didn’t feel the chill. 

The corpse had once been a young man with vibrantly colored hair, though his roots had grown out a dark midnight black. Genji had dyed his only recently, and fussed about his roots whenever they strayed from civilization for a time, causing him to carry some emergency dye on his person. 

_kitsune are tricksters. liars. it’s not real_

There were lacerations, some healed and some fresh, on arms made thin from hunger, and hollows in his cheeks. 

_it’s not_

His clothes were old and worn, the vibrant orange of his scarf washed out and faded. Their mother had bought Genji a similar scarf before he was born. To the best of Hanzo’s knowledge, though Genji had long outgrown the garment, it was still in his possession. Even disregarding the sentimental value, Genji was fastidious about his appearance. He wouldn’t have allowed his clothes to become patchy and rust-colored with old and stiff stains. 

_it’s_

Hanzo reached for the corpse’s hand. 

_not_

It was cold. 

_**r e a l** _

A terrifying scream ripped from his lungs, along with something far more bestial, and he threw his head back as his arm began to burn. Azure flames swirled around his bicep, growing and shifting, writhing as they passed above and beneath his flesh, until they separated, leaving him to form a shape of their own, the shape of dragons. And they circled him. Not in a predatory manner, as the kitsune had done, but protective and familial. When the fox spirit stepped backwards, however, her fearful gaze locked on the ancestral serpents, their concern shifted to rage, and their giant maws stretched to reveal rows of thick and pointed fangs as they reared to launch themselves over Hanzo’s head and plow towards her. 

Dazed, Hanzo could only watch as she vanished with a choked cry into a sea of blue fire. Eventually, the ethereal flames faded, leaving behind a path of unbroken snow. And the green-haired corpse whose hand Hanzo had held tightly this whole time disappeared without a trace, as though it had never been. 

“So, child, you have decided to make me your enemy?” Hanzo jerked his head up to see the kitsune, still standing but thoroughly and grievously burned on one half of her body. Her kimono, for the most part, was blackened and charred, destroyed by the dragon’s wrath, her tails singed and missing patches of fur. And the sparrow on her clothes was nowhere to be seen. 

As empty and utterly spent as he was, Hanzo managed to straighten his back and meet her furious gaze with a tired and resigned, yet unquestionably defiant, “You have always been my enemy, kitsune.”

She tilted her head, processing that with a frown, “A pity.” The claws protruding from her fingertips yellowed and lengthened as her tails whipped spasmodically behind her, occasionally slamming the earth with enough force to crack it. She lunged forward to tear into his chest, to break his bones and rip out his heart, and Hanzo stared at her without flinching, for if this were to be his end than he would face it with pride, knowing that he had done everything in his power to survive, and it simply wasn’t enough.

Except the end never came for him, as the kitsune suddenly drew up short, her crimson lips parted in surprise with a dribble of pale blood rolling down her forehead, where a hole roughly the size of a coin had appeared. 

Her eyes fluttered closed and she crumbled into a heap on the snow, close enough for Hanzo to touch, but that was something he didn't have time to dwell on, because a streak of bright green raced onto the clearing with a sword that shone with an otherworldly brilliance, though it dimmed as Genji came close enough to see that the brunt of the danger had passed. He stopped about a foot away from where Hanzo was kneeling, and they stared at each other in silence, a million questions passing between them, before he dropped the blade on the ground and launched himself at Hanzo to envelope him in an embrace so fierce and frightened it nearly knocked him over.

Genji was shaking, his vision blurring as he struggled to speak. He tried to pull away, causing Hanzo to hold him tighter. As overwhelmed as he was by the sheer relief born within him at the knowledge that Genji was well and truly alive, he wasn’t ready or willing to let him go just yet. 

And so that was how Jesse found them when he caught up, silent and euphoric with the knowledge that neither would be ending that day sans a sibling. After nodding an acknowledgement at Hanzo, who returned the gesture with a grateful smile, he waited patiently until the pair were ready, with his hardened gaze locked on the fallen kitsune, his hand on his pistol, and his finger on the trigger. 

Eventually, Genji’s pulse slowed to a normal rate and Hanzo’s strength returned, and they helped each other stand while McCree moved to check on the fox spirit’s body. Normally, he’d give it a nudge to see if the person or creature was only playing dead, but since the she-fox didn’t fit neatly into either of those categories, he opted not to test his luck by putting any part of him within reach, and instead looked for signs of motion from a short distance away. 

Noticing this, Genji grinned at him, “Scared, cowboy?”

Unbothered, McCree rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug, “Let’s just say that even brave men know better than to stick their foot in a bear trap.” And as though the kitsune’s body had heard him, it began to grow transparent, leaving only her clothes, which deflated to roughly frame the shape of something small and shifting. 

Their hands flew to their weapons as each of them positioned themselves between the threat and Hanzo, and they waited, none of them daring to breath, until a white and furry figure darted out from within the kimono’s sleeve. 

A snow fox with golden eyes stared up at them, its nine tails bristling, and Genji edged forward, his blade drawn and ready, until a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned to see Hanzo shake his head, “Let her go.” Though visibly wary, the white fox turned its back on them to sprint for the cover of the forest. “She knows better than to pick a fight she cannot win.”

Holstering his pistol, McCree muttered loudly enough for his companions to hear, “If that were true, she wouldn't have picked this one.” It did the trick, as both of the Shimada brothers seemed appreciative of the statement. Taking his step towards him, Genji opened his mouth to say something, but what it was McCree would never find out because a barn owl chose that moment to swoop down and nearly take his head off. Instead, it merely knocked off his hat, causing the cowboy to curse furiously under his breath as he bent to pick it up. 

It perched in the highest bough of the closest pine tree, and when Jesse got his first good look at it, he nearly dropped his jaw, too. “The hell are you wearing my serape for?” He shouted at the bird, which seemed to pay him no mind as it swiveled its neck to preen its flight feathers. “Give it back, you dumb-” Though it apparently didn’t appreciate name-calling because it stretched its wings to their fullest, chest puffed as it screeched down at them. 

Taking pity on him, Hanzo prompted, “McCree, isn’t Dr. Angela Ziegler a witch?”

He nodded. “Sure is. Likes to use her talents in the craft to supplement her medicine, though.”

Catching on to what Hanzo was trying to do, Genji happily joined with, “And how might a witch try to contact you if, say, she didn’t know where you were?”

A frown tugging at his lips, Jesse glanced bemusedly between the two brothers, who seemed to be waiting for him to do or say something. Sure would be nice if they’d just come out and say what it was, though. “Well, I guess if she had a familiar or something like that, she could send one of those…” Clearly enjoying this, Genji pointed up at the bird wearing his serape and staring down intently, though the general impression it was giving off was one of intense exasperation and dwindling patience. “I think I’m starting to see where you’re going with this.”

Since it wouldn’t be dusk for a few hours yet, they made their way back to camp with the owl in tow, and packed up their belongings. The hoodie Hanzo had worn before wasn’t enough to hide his large horns and scales entirely, and since both Jesse and Genji reacted vehemently when Hanzo suggested that they try cutting them off, they had to improvise by cutting holes in the hoodie, in the hopes that anyone who saw the horns would reach the infinitely more reasonable conclusion that they were all just really passionate about dressing up for the holidays. 

“So we’re going to brazenly show them off in the hopes that the majority of the human race consists of gullible fools,” Hanzo gripped at the antlers like he was seriously considering ripping them off, outvoted or not. 

“Yes.” Genji swatted at his hands as he passed him on the way down the mountain trail. “And stop that or we’ll ask Dr. Ziegler to put a Cone of Shame on you.”

McCree laughed, only to try to hastily turn it into a cough when Hanzo swung sharply to glare at him. 

They made it down in one piece, called a taxi, then politely asked the taxi driver to follow the flying barn owl. It was better than walking, and the man couldn’t even kick them out because they’d each made sure to pile into the car before dropping that rather peculiar request. Jesse was sure to leave him a sizable tip when he actually did what they asked instead of driving them to the nearest police station, though he wondered if driving them to the nearest hospital was really much better. 

Outside the entrance stood a young woman in her early-to-mid twenties. She was tapping her foot nervously with her arms crossed over the front of her lap coat. Upon catching sight of them leaving the taxi, she zeroed in on Jesse like a hawk, striding over with an overly wide gait to smack McCree soundly on his flesh arm.

Clutching the appendage with a wounded expression, McCree exclaimed, “Ow! What the hell, Angie? I need that arm.” He looked to Hanzo and Genji for help. After sharing a glance, the brothers stepped several feet away to observe the scene from a safe distance. 

Turning back the petite woman in front of him, the cowboy met her narrowed gaze to see bright blue eyes glistening with angry tears. “Jesse McCree, no one’s heard from you in months! I thought you were dead!” 

“Now, see, I had a very good reason for that, Ange. If you’ll just calm down and listen-“

“I am calm!” She snapped. 

Raising his hands in front of himself, McCree carefully replied, “I can see that.” 

Stepping back, she forced herself to take several deep breaths, in through her mouth and out through her nose.“But we can talk about why you didn’t trust me to help you at another time.” Though the wetness never entirely left her gaze, the smile she wore when she turned to face Hanzo was warm and genuine, “I have something for you.”

 

She led them inside, leading them with a confidence born from walking the same halls everyday for years, and then ushered them into her office, pulled down the shutters over the window, and locked the door. Meanwhile, the owl perched on her shoulder stared unblinkingly at Jesse, who was growing more uncomfortable with the attention by the minute, “Hey Ange?” She turned to regard him with a soft hum. “Think you could tell your bird to stop staring at me? It’s kind of making me nervous.” Meanwhile, Genji found the spinning leather chair behind the desk and claimed rights, even though it was most definitely not his chair, and Hanzo occupied his attention by picking up the picture frames on the shelves where Angela kept her medical texts. In the first framed photo, he saw a group of four, including a much younger Angela flanked by a tall man in a beanie, a blond-haired man with blue eyes, and Jesse McCree, sans the metal arm and a few pounds of muscle. 

They were all laughing. 

Angela huffed under her breath, sparing the bird of prey an affectionate glance, “Oh, don’t mind him too much. He’s just being stubborn. It’s obvious that he missed you.” The barn owl ruffled its feathers, clearly disgruntled. Angela wasn’t impressed, though. She folded her arms over her chest, “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” 

She disappeared into the back closet of her office to rummage through several vials, leaving her guests to wonder what she’d come up with, as all they could hear was the clinking of glass and a constant stream of incomprehensible dialogue. While her back was turned, the owl’s head circled around to continue staring at McCree.

Arcing a brow at the familiar’s odd behavior, Hanzo reached to study the framed photo he’d first picked up a second time.

“I mean it, Angela, call off your bird. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

Pursing her lips slightly, Angela drew back from the closet to regard the owl, seemingly warring with herself, then slumped her shoulders and sighed, noting tiredly, “It’s only an owl, Jesse.”

McCree shot back, “I don’t care if it’s a chicken-” The owl opened its beak with an ungodly shriek. “Ah, shut up! I wasn’t talkin’ to you.” It beat its wings threateningly, then flew over to land on the cowboy’s hat, whereupon it delivered a solid peck. Wincing, McCree shooed it away. It landed on the windowsill near Genji, who eyed it warily, but when McCree dared to poke his tongue out at it, the owl’s head twisted around like he’d offended its third eye. 

Sufficiently cowed, McCree grumbled, “What is wrong with that bird?”

“Maybe it just doesn’t like you?” Genji chimed in from where he’d draped himself over the armchair he’d commandeered when the spinning seat proved uncomfortable to lay in. It didn’t seem like the owl had it in for him the way it did for McCree, leaving him free to fully appreciate this latest display of the cowboy’s eternal misfortune. 

Fixing him with a doleful look, McCree whined, “Man, I thought we were cool?”

“We are _nearly_ cool, and even when we are, this will still be funny.” 

A second later, Angela came bustling out of the closet with a pair of glowing pink vials and a swig of wolfsbane, instantly earning her the attention of everyone in the room. Hanzo and Genji restrained themselves from crowding her while she mixed the vials, causing the colors to deepen and darken to the black of a starless night, with a center of swirling specks of light like a mini cosmos. Then she dropped the wolfsbane in, allowing it to sink slowly into the viscous liquid, and the colors shifted to tawny browns and crimson swirls with traces of gold. 

Briefly, Hanzo wondered if it was safe to drink, and knew without looking that Genji mirrored his thoughts, but he trusted McCree, and McCree trusted this woman, so when she offered it to him, he closed his eyes, and took a judicious sip.

It tasted like freshly cut wood and sunlight. 

His eyes flew open at the sound of his name, and he looked down at his hands to see the scales flaking off his skin. Curiously, he reached up to touch the horns branching from his scalp, only to feel them suddenly give, breaking off and hitting the carpeted floor with a dull thud. A moment of complete silence passed before Hanzo had his hands full with a younger brother who’d launched himself clear across the room to celebrate. And Hanzo chuckled wetly, overcome with relief and exhilaration at being free of his curse in equal measure.

A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed that his eyes still glowed with an unsettling blue light, but he had faith that they, too, would return to normal in time. 

Like this, he would be able to return to the clan, but…

Maybe not right away. They already likely thought he was dead. What was a few months in the face of that?

“What would you like to do with the horns?” Angela asked curiously. 

After wiping his tears on Hanzo’s shoulder, who frowned at the stains but didn't comment, Genji suggested that they mount them on the wall. The suggestion was quickly and ruthlessly shut down. In the end, Angela decided to keep them for research to see if they might have any medicinal properties. To be honest, Hanzo wasn’t thrilled with the outcome, but reminded himself that he’d decided to trust her, and she had just helped him get his life back.

Once they’d thanked her for her aid and promised to repay her in some manner in the future, Genji strode out of the office with his hands behind his head, seeming happier than he’d been in long time, and McCree followed, eager to escape the barn owl’s inescapable gaze. 

Before Hanzo could follow, however, Angela stopped him, “Could I ask you a question?” Though uncertain of her intentions, Hanzo nodded slowly to convey his permission, and though she fidgeted with the cuffs of her coat, she forged ahead with a surprisingly earnest expression, “Why go through all this trouble to end your curse when you could have done so easily by taking Jesse’s life? You didn’t even know him before this.”

Bemused, Hanzo cocked his head. “I am afraid I do not understand your question. Would you have preferred such an outcome?” 

“Of course not,” she hurriedly assured him. “He is reckless, and an utter fool, but he is also a dear friend. There is little I would not do to keep him safe from harm... or from those who would break his heart.” 

Oh, he didn’t doubt that. There was more to breaking a curse than mixing several potions, yet she had done what so many others had failed to with an air of effortlessness that would have made the oldest and most experienced spellcasters green with envy. And she was still young, yet. In the future, she would be a formidable witch, indeed.

His hand on the door handle, Hanzo told her, “On that, Dr. Ziegler, I believe we are in agreement.” He arced an eyebrow at the barn owl, which stared back at him without blinking, its dark brown eyes narrowing slightly. After a brief pause, Hanzo smiled. “All three of us.” 

Then he left to join McCree and his brother without waiting for a reply.

He ended up finding McCree first, and not in the waiting area or by the parking lot, but on the rooftop. Settling down to sit beside him close to the guard railing, he asked, “Where’s Genji?”

McCree shrugged without turning, his gaze focused on a distant point, somewhere beyond the trees. “Oh, he’s around. Don’t think he’s quite ready to let ya out of his sight yet, so I doubt he’s gone far.” 

It was dark out now, the sun having disappeared beneath the horizon some time ago. Above their heads, the stars glittered prettily in a sky bathed with moonlight.

Huffing with quiet amusement, Hanzo gently nudged the cowboy with his elbow, drawing his attention. “He’s forgiven you, you know.” A shrug. “Or if not that, then he’s well on his way. He likes you too much to hold a grudge for long.” 

Their hands were each placed on the concrete, the tips of their fingers nearly close enough to touch. When a breeze passed through the treetops. Hanzo reached up to tuck a stray lock behind an ear, before turning to see McCree staring intently down at him, a subtle flush coloring his cheeks, “And you, darling? Do you, uh… like me, too?”

They edged their hands closer at the same time, each of them feeling a thrill at the barest brush of contact. With the spark of the connection occupying his thoughts, Hanzo tilted his head towards the stars, and said, “The moon is beautiful tonight, Jesse.” He didn’t look at the cowboy to see his reaction, wouldn’t have been able to say it if he had. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Eventually, though, he lowered his head to settle the warmth of his gaze on McCree, and upon seeing the confusion furrowing his brow, Hanzo merely smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been reading this for your support. I had a lot of fun with this one, and though I'll admit that writing romance isn't something I'm totally accustomed to, I'm pretty happy with the way this turned out.


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